


Every Song Reminds Me of You

by ChrisCalledMeSweetie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, John is an idiot, M/M, Sherlock is a Posh Boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 03:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10152557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/pseuds/ChrisCalledMeSweetie
Summary: Music hath charms to help John acknowledge his feelings for Sherlock.Written for this prompt by alexxphoenix42: John calls Sherlock his Posh Boy as MUCH AS POSSIBLE.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexxphoenix42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxphoenix42/gifts).



It starts in the shower.  There’s something about the acoustics in the bathroom, combined with the rush of water, that has always enticed John to sing.  Any song will do — from childhood favourites to whatever he’s most recently heard on the radio.  Whether John remembers the lyrics or not doesn’t matter; he’s quite capable of making up his own.

So, that’s how it starts.  The water cascades down over John’s body as he belts out his  personal version of Amy Winehouse’s _Valerie:_

_Since I've come on home_  
_Well, my body's been a mess_  
_And I've missed your curly hair_  
_And the way you like to dress_  
  
_Won't you come on over_  
_Stop treating me like I’m your toy_  
_Why don't you come on over my Posh Boy?_  
_My Posh Boy, my Posh Boy, my Posh Boy…_

Huh… _Where did that come from?_ John wonders idly as he towels off.  _Posh Boy…_  

…

The next morning, John has The Beach Boys stuck in his head, but the lyrics that spill out of his mouth in the shower become:

_Well, Posh Boy, you look so fine_  
_And I know it wouldn't take much time_  
_For you to help me, Posh Boy_  
_Help me get her out of my heart_  
  
_Help me, Posh Boy_  
_Help, help me, Posh Boy_  
_Help me, Posh Boy_  
_Help, help me, Posh Boy_  


John laughs to himself as he borrows Sherlock’s overpriced shampoo, and keeps on singing.

_Help me, Posh Boy_  
_Help, help me, Posh Boy_  
_Help me, Posh Boy_  
_Help, help me, Posh Boy_  
  
_Help me, Posh Boy_  
_Help, help me, Posh Boy_  
_Help me, Posh Boy, yeah_  
_Get her out of my heart_

…

Soon, John finds that he can’t hear a single song without unconsciously changing the lyrics to include his new secret nickname for Sherlock.  Singing in the shower is one thing, but now these songs have started taking over his life.  

John hates Justin Bieber, but this damn song was playing on the radio in the cab and he just can’t get it out of his head:

_'Cause if you like the way you look that much_  
_Oh, Posh Boy, you should go and love yourself_  
_And if you think that I'm still holdin' on_  
_Well, Posh Boy, you should go and love yourself_

At first, John is glad when he hears an equally catchy tune, thinking it will save him from the horrors of Justin Bieber.  Unfortunately, Train has turned the melody of _Heart and Soul_ into an ear-worm that he just can’t shake. 

_Posh Boy song_  
_The one that makes me go all night long_  
_The one that makes me think of you_  
_That's all you gotta do_  
  
_Hey, Posh Boy song_  
_The one the makes me stay out till dawn_  
_The one that makes me go oooh_  
_That's all you gotta do_

_…_

As if that wasn’t bad enough, John rapidly discovers that everyday events are now becoming song cues.  Laying the fire on a chilly night leads to an internal:    

_You know that it would be untrue_  
_You know that I would be a liar_  
_If I was to say to you_  
_Boy, we couldn't get much higher_  
_Come on, Posh Boy, light my fire_  
_Come on, Posh Boy, light my fire_ _  
_ _Try to set the night on fire_

And each time Sherlock does something inconsiderate or foolhardy, John silently channels Hall & Oates: 

_You’re a Posh Boy, and you’ve gone too far_  
_‘Cause you know it don’t matter anyway_

John snickers to himself at the thought of what Sherlock would say if he could hear the soundtrack in John’s mind.

_…_

It’s only in the shower that John allows himself to sing out loud.  That’s where he’s always felt free to let go of all of his inhibitions.  Lately, though, the songs that come to him seem to be filled with a meaning he might not be ready to face.

_When you were a young boy_  
_Did you have a puppy_  
_That always followed you around?_  
_Well, I'm gonna be as faithful as that puppy_  
_No, I'll never let you down_  
  
_‘Cause it grows stronger, like a river flows_  
_And it gets bigger, Posh Boy, heaven knows_  
_And it gets sweeter, Posh Boy, as it grows_  
  
_And do I love you, my oh my?_  
_Yeah, river deep, mountain high_  
_If I lost you would I cry_  
_Oh, how I love you, Posh Boy_  
_Posh Boy, Posh Boy, Posh Boy_

That one he shrugs off by telling himself that it was triggered by Donovan comparing him to a puppy following Sherlock around.  The next one he figures is just an expression of his lifelong admiration of Paul McCartney:  

_And when I go away_  
_I know my heart can stay with Posh Boy_  
_It's understood_  
_It's in the hands of Posh Boy_  
_And Posh Boy does it good_  
_Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa, whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa_  
_Posh Boy does it good_  
  
_And when the cupboard's bare_  
_I'll still find something there with Posh Boy_  
_It's understood_  
_It's everywhere with Posh Boy_  
_And Posh Boy does it good_  
_Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa, whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa_  
_Posh Boy does it good_  
  
_Whoa-whoa, I love, oh-whoa, Posh Boy_  
_Only Posh Boy holds the other key to me_  
_Oh-whoa, Posh Boy, oh-oh, Posh Boy_  
_Only Posh Boy does it good to me_  
_Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa, whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa_  
_Posh Boy does it good_

John is just a huge fan of Paul McCartney.  That’s all.

…

Each morning, behind the muffling safety of the water, John runs through one song after another.  As time goes by, he washes away his denial.  John is in love with a Posh Boy.

John is in love with Sherlock. 

…

It’s bound to happen eventually, and one day it does: John starts singing as he makes tea.

_Posh Boy says_  
_Only fools rush in_  
_But I can’t help_  
_Falling in love with him_

There’s a gasp from behind him, and John whirls around to see Sherlock sitting at the table.  In a blind panic, John dashes from the kitchen, races up the stairs, and shuts himself in his room.  The only song running through his mind now is _shite, shite, shite, shite, shite, shite, shite…_

_Idiot!_ John berates himself.  _Why did you run off like that?  You could have bluffed your way through this like it meant nothing, but no, you had to go and turn it into a Huge Fucking Deal.  Fuckity fucking fuck!_

John hears Sherlock’s footsteps on the stairs and frantically casts around for an excuse for his behaviour.  _Hmm…_   _He thought he heard someone breaking into his room.  Yeah.  That’s why he ran up here._   John grabs his gun and aims it at the window, freezing in a pose that will show Sherlock that he’s managed to scare off the intruder.    

Sherlock doesn’t enter the room, though.  Instead, he pauses outside the door and begins to sing.  It takes a minute for John’s fevered brain to register what he’s hearing.

_Doctor, doctor, give me the news_  
_I've got a bad case of lovin' you…_

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos make me smile. :)


End file.
